The Legend of the Strange Sound
by MysticOarfish
Summary: A man goes to his cabin in the woods for a spicy weekend alone with his red sports car, some tuna, and the clothes on his back. He hopes to enjoy the weekend hunting...BUT WILL HE BECOME THE HUNTED?


Jim silently counted down the final 60 seconds of the work day, his heart leaping with joy when the hour hand struck five.

"See ya Larry!" Jim said to his cube mate as he collected his things and hurried out the office before the clock could even change to 5:01.

"Enjoy your trip!" Larry shouted after him.

Jim hopped into his brand new Mercedes convertible and put his into drive. Though his job as a customer service representative for an appliance company did not pay him well enough to afford such luxuries, Jim, a man fast approaching 55, had used the money he saved for the family he had never started and had no problem taking a loan out for the remaining cost. Having no wife and no kids at his age made a man funny for material things. In jim's case, the shiny red car made him feel younger and more alive than he had in years. This week he was taking it for a three and a half hour drive up to his cabin where he planned to spend the week hunting, fishing, and relaxing. He switched his radio onto the station that counts down the top ten pop songs of the week that he liked and began his journey North.

He arrived at his cabin in 3 1/2 hours, if not less because he drove his new car well above the speed limit down the roads he had to himself. He grabbed his bag of things from his backseat and rummaged his pockets for the door key. A musty smell greeted his nose when he pushed the door open; just as he remembered it. It had been quite some time since Jim made the trip to his cabin, and this was reflected clearly in the many cobwebs that decorated the ceiling and furniture. Jim unpacked his backpack first, putting his clothes in the bedroom closet and the groceries he brought from town in his kitchen. He stocked up well enough so he didn't have to make the long drive to town every day. Being 1 1/2 from the nearest grocery store or gas station, Jim also brought with him a tank of gas in case his car didn't make it to town. As incredibly beautiful his new car was, it was terrible on gas. Once he finished unpacking, he sat on his kitchen counter and made himself his favorite snack: tuna on toast. He was eager to go off hunting after that, but decided to wait for the morning in fear that he would get lost in the woods. He was very far from civilization and, having been away from his cabin for so long, didn't feel comfortable wandering off in the dark. He made his bed and went to sleep in anticipation of the morning's hunt.

Some hours later, Jim rolled over in his bed.

'Morning already?' He thought.

He glanced at the clock, whos digital, red numbers burned 3:00am into jim's strained, squinted eyes. He pulled the covers over his head in frustration and shut his lids tightly to promote sleep. Just as he was drifting off, he heard a noise in the distance. At first quiet and sporadic, but then the sound echoed through his lonely cabin at a frightening speed.

Kakakakakakakakakaka!

It sounded almost like a washing machine on a high spin cycle to Jim, or a cyclist peddling his wheels extremely fast. But Jim had neither a washing machine nor a bicycle in his cabin, and though he didn't truly believe his own thoughts, he did his best to convince himself that the noise belonged to some kind of animal. Though the noise went on he managed to fall asleep eventually, and didn't wake up again until the sunlight streamed through his shades.

Not thinking much of the night's events, Jim quickly slabbed some tuna onto a piece of toast and set out hunting. On his way out to the wooded path he stumbled and caught himself. Looking down he saw the container of gas he had brought with him.

"That's odd," he thought. "I could have sworn I left this by the hose." The gas container sat a few inches away from his Mercedes, on the opposite side of where the hose jutted out from the side of the cabin. Jim shrugged, placing it against the cabin and head off on his way.

He returned around dinner time upset and defeated. Not only did he not catch anything hunting, but he didn't even see one single animal! Usually the woods around his cabin were crawling with life, but the only thing he knew for sure was in the woods today were mosquitoes bases on his non-stop itching. He sighed and made his way to the kitchen to make more tuna toast.

A full stomach later, Jim tucked himself into his sheets and drifted off. Before he knew it, he was awakened by a familiar sound.

Kakakakakakakaka!

It was the same sound he had heard the night before. Only tonight he could not confidently hold an animal accountable for the noise that was echoing though his cabin. Not only had he never heard an animal that made that particular noise, but his hunting from the day had proven fruitless. He had seen less animals than if he had remained home in Philadelphia. Part of him toyed with the idea of getting up to locate the source of the sound, but having seen his fair share of horror movies in a recent TV marathon, he pulled the sheets over his head and decided to use the same method as the night before.

He awoke at the first signs of daybreak. The shadows of his tiny bedroom were illuminated with sunbeams and the mysterious sounds from the previous night were replaced with tree leaves swaying in a gentle breeze. He thought briefly of his night terror, and almost built up the nerve to investigate the cabin for a hint to the source of the sound, but quickly pushed that idea to the back of his mind. There were things he'd rather not know, he figured. Plus there was only one more night in the cabin before he had to return to his usual 9 to 5 grind at the office in Philadelphia. Why waste the day over something that was probably nothing?

Today he took some tuna toast for the road. 'Maybe this'll lure them animals out," he reckoned. Jim gave the hunt his best shot yet again, but still returned empty handed, save a handful of blueberries.

Upon returning to his cabin he immediately sensed something was wrong. Though nothing was immediately out of place, his gut told him otherwise. As he approached the front door, he saw it. A shiny, black substance covered the steps leading up to the door. Walking closer, he could see that the substance was arranged in the shape of the number '95'.

"Is this someone's idea of a joke?!" He thought. His first instinct was to pull out his phone. Even if he had reception, he wouldn't know who to call, but it comforted him nonetheless. Could it be some kids fooling around? While he didn't often see people in his part of the woods, he knew he was not the only hunter with a cabin in the area. He bent down to examine the substance more closely.

"Gasoline," he said out loud. A quick scan towards his car revealed that his gasoline can had been overturned.

More for the convenience of his own comfort than for anything else, he chose to believe that the message on his front step was a bunch of kids fooling around. Had it been the daytime he would have head back to the city early, but driving in the woods alone at night seemed more daunting than waiting out till the sunrise. He had hit a deer once doing just that, and it had landed him in the hospital for a solid week.

He locked the door behind him and double checked that it was properly locked two times before he crawled into bed. He lay there staring at the ceiling, waiting for a sleep that wouldn't come. His mind was racing with questions. Who vandalized the steps? Was 95 a gang reference? What was a gang doing this far from Philly? Did the noise he had heard the past two nights have anything to do with it? And what seemed the worst question of all. Would he hear it again?

To his dismay his question was answered three hours later with a kakakakakakaka!

This was the last straw for Jim. Though clearly still nighttime, he knew it was time to get out of the woods. Things were getting too strange for his taste. "And it's not like I've done any hunting," he thought. He gathered his wallet and keys and made for the door. As he pressed his face against the peephole to take a look before facing the wilderness, the noise suddenly silenced. More frightening than he'd been all night, he sprinted for his car, forgetting to lock his door behind him.

"There's nothing of value inside anyhow," he thought. "I can go back and lock her up in the morning."

So he started the engine, switched on his high beams, and made his way through the woods towards town. As he was making his way through the thick vegetation, he felt at ease for the first time since he had arrived. It felt as though whatever had been haunting his thoughts back at the cabin had remained there. Once he put 20 miles behind him, he even switched on the radio and rolled down his convertible's roof for a taste of the warm night breeze.

Once he was out of the thick of the woods and onto a more open road, he picked up the speed. He was a speck of red flying through the night's wind. Despite all that had happened, he was actually enjoying his drive back. Until he heard a faint sound. He could barely make it out with the radio now on full blast, but he didn't wonder for a second what it was.

Kakakakakakakaka!

It got louder. Impossible to ignore now. Jim wanted to scream in frustration. "Could it be a problem with my engine?" He wondered. Thinking it through more carefully, his engine theory made sense. He was no car expert, but he had had problems with the engine of his last vehicle, and it did not go over quietly. Jim laughed to himself in relief.

"It was the car the whole time!" He exerted. His momentarily relief was quickly replaced with concern for his prized possession as the sound continued in the background.

He pulled off to the side of the road and popped the hood.

Kakakakakakakaka!

The car continued.

Jim conducted a brief inspection of the Mercedes on his way over to the hood. The tire pressure seemed fine, the exhaust was functioning, and there was nothing visibly unusual about the body of the vehicle. He finally took a look under the hood. The oil looked good and the engine was igniting-he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary.

Kakakakakakaka! The sound continued.

"What could it be?"

He sat back down into the car and sighed.

Maybe if he switched the car on and then off it would stop? He turned the key and removed it from the keyhole.

Kakakakakakakakakaka! The car didn't stop.

Suddenly Jim felt very stupid. How could the car have been making the noise he heard at night when it was off? Surely even an engine problem wouldn't make noise when the engine was off? Slowly Jim got out the car and made his was over to the front of the vehicle. He took a good look at the hood. The shiny red was glistening in the dim streetlights.

Kakakakakakakaka!

Just then, Jim noticed something. His headlights looked strange from this angle. He squat down for a better look. The headlights seemed too flat. Reaching out to touch them he found that they WERE too flat. In fact, they seemed painted on-fake.

How is this possible? His car was new, and he was using his lights moments before. The lights that faced him now were surly unable to light.

Kakakakakakakakakaka!

"Huh!" He gasped. After everything he'd been through the answer had finally come to him. Like a jigsaw puzzle, he felt himself piecing it together. The spilled gasoline in the shape of a 95, the headlights, and most of all...

Kakakakakakakaka!

The sound was louder than ever. It seemed to physically shake the ground that Jim was standing on. A strange peace rolled over him as he calmly accepted his fate. He let it roll over him as he gently closed his eyelids. He squat down and opened them to stare into the eyes that were now visible on the red Mercedes' front bumper.

Kakakakakakaka-KACHOW!

On Monday morning Larry began his usual office routine with two regular coffees-cream, but no sugar-from Dunkin Donuts. He took a sip of his before dropping the other off on Jim's desk. It was a usual Monday, with a steady flow of clients calling to complain and an inflow of weekend emails to respond to. He hardly even noticed the untouched coffee that grew cold on jim's desk.


End file.
